by Duchess
CHAPTER III.
"You are late," says Arthur Dynecourt in a low tone. There is no angerin it; there is indeed only a desire to show how tedious have been themoments spent apart from her.
"Have you brought your book, or do you mean to go through your partwithout it?" Florence asks, disdaining to notice his words, or to betrayinterest in anything except the business that has brought them together.
"I know my part by heart," he responds, in a strange voice.
"Then begin," she commands somewhat imperiously; the very insolence ofher air only gives an additional touch to her extreme beauty and fireshis ardor.
"You desire me to begin?" he asks unsteadily.
"If you wish it."
"Do you wish it?"
"I desire nothing more intensely than to get this rehearsal over," shereplies impatiently.
"You take no pains indeed to hide your scorn of me," says Dynecourtbitterly.
"I regret it, if I have at any time treated you with incivility,"returns Florence, with averted eyes and with increasing coldness. "YetI must always think that, for whatever has happened, you have onlyyourself to blame."
"Is it a crime to love you?" he demands boldly.
"Sir," she exclaims indignantly, and raising her beautiful eyes to hisfor a moment, "I must request you will never speak to me of love. Thereis neither sympathy nor common friendliness between us. You are wellaware with what sentiments I regard you."
"But, why am I alone to be treated with contempt?" he asks, with suddenpassion. "All other men of your acquaintance are graciously received byyou, are met with smiles and kindly words. Upon me alone your eyes rest,when they deign to glance in my direction, with marked disfavor. All theworld can see it. I am signaled out from the others as one to beslighted and spurned."
"Your forget yourself," says Florence contemptuously. "I have met youhere to-day to rehearse our parts for next Tuesday evening, not tolisten to any insolent words you may wish to address to me. Let usbegin"--opening her book. "If you know your part, go on."
"I know my part only too well; it is to worship you madly, hopelessly.Your very cruelty only serves to heighten my passion. Florence, hearme!"
"I will not," she says, her eyes flashing. She waves him back from heras he endeavors to take her hand. "Is it not enough that I have beenpersecuted by your attentions--attentions most hateful to me--for thepast year, but you must now obtrude them upon me here? You compel meto tell you in plain words what my manner must have shown you only tooclearly--that you are distasteful to me in every way, that your verypresence troubles me, that your touch is abhorrent to me!"
"Ah," he says, stepping back as she hurls these words at him, andregarding her with a face distorted by passion, "if I were the masterhere, instead of the poor cousin--if I were Sir Adrian--your treatmentof me would be very different!"
At the mention of Sir Adrian's name the color dies out of her face andshe grows deadly pale. Her lips quiver, but her eyes do not droop.
"I do not understand you," she says proudly.
"Then you shall," responds Dynecourt. "Do you think I am blind, that Ican not see how you have given your proud heart to my cousin, that hehas conquered where other men have failed; that, even before he hasdeclared any love for you, you have, in spite of your pride, given allyour affection to him?"
"You insult me," cries Florence, with quivering lips. She looks faint,and is trembling visibly. If this man has read her heart aright, maynot all the guests have read it too? May not even Adrian himself havediscovered her secret passion, and perhaps despised her for it, as beingunwomanly?
"And more," goes on Dynecourt, exulting in the torture he can see he isinflicting; "though you thrust from you an honorable love for one thatlives only in your imagination, I will tell you that Sir Adrian hasother views, other intentions. I have reason to know that, when hemarries, the name of his bride will not be Florence Delmaine."
"Leave me, sir," cries Florence, rousing herself from her momentaryweakness, and speaking with all her old fire, "and never presume toaddress me again. Go!"
She points with extended hand to the door at the lower end of thegallery. So standing, with her eyes strangely bright, and her perfectfigure drawn up to its fullest height, she looks superb in herdisdainful beauty.
Dynecourt, losing his self-possession as he gazes upon her, suddenlyflings himself at her feet and catches her dress in his hands to detainher.
"Have pity on me," he cries imploringly; "it is my unhappy love foryou that has driven me to speak thus! Why is Adrian to have all, and Inothing? He has title, lands, position--above and beyond everything, thepriceless treasure of your love, whilst I am bankrupt in all. Show mesome mercy--some kindness!"
They are both so agitated that they fail to hear the sound ofapproaching footsteps.
"Release me, sir," cries Florence imperiously.
"Nay; first answer me one question," entreats Dynecourt. "Do you love mycousin?"
"I care nothing for Sir Adrian!" replies Florence distinctly, and in asomewhat raised tone, her self-pride being touched to the quick.
Two figures who have entered the gallery by the second door at the upperend of it, hearing these words uttered in an emphatic tone, start andglance at the _tableau_ presented to their view lower down. Theyhesitate, and, even as they do so, they can see Arthur Dynecourt seizeFlorence Delmaine's hand, and, apparently unrebuked, kiss itpassionately.
"Then I shall hope still," he says in a low but impressive voice, atwhich the two who have just entered turn and beat a precipitate retreat,fearing that they may be seen. One is Sir Adrian, the other Mrs. Talbot.
"Dear me," stammers Dora, in pretty confusion, "who would have thoughtit? I was never so amazed in my life."
Sir Adrian, who has turned very pale, and is looking greatly distressed,makes no reply. He is repeating over and over again to himself the wordshe has just heard, as though unable or unwilling to comprehend them. "Icare nothing for Sir Adrian!" They strike like a knell upon his ears--adeath-knell to all his dearest hopes. And that fellow on his kneesbefore her, kissing her hand, and telling her he will still hope! Hopefor what? Alas, he tells himself, he knows only too well--her love!
"I am so glad they have made it up," Dora goes on, looking upsympathetically at Sir Adrian.
"Made it up? I had no idea they were more than ordinary and very newacquaintances."
"It is quite a year since we first met Arthur in Switzerland," respondsDora demurely, calling Dynecourt by his Christian name, a thing she hasnever done before, because she knows it will give Sir Adrian theimpression that they are on very intimate terms with his cousin. "He hasbeen our shadow ever since. I wonder you did not notice his devotion intown."
"I noticed nothing," says Sir Adrian, miserably; "or, if I did, it wasonly to form wrong impressions. I firmly believed, seeing Miss Delmaineand Arthur together here, that she betrayed nothing but a rooted disliketo him."
"They had not been good friends of late," explains Dora hastily; "thatwe all could see. And Florence is very peculiar, you know; she is quitethe dearest girl in the world, and I adore her; but I will confess toyou"--with another upward and bewitching glance from the charming blueeyes--"that she has her little tempers. Not very naughty ones, youknow"--shaking her head archly--"but just enough to make one a bitafraid of her at times; so I never ventured to ask her why she treatedpoor Arthur, who really is her slave, so cruelly."
"And you think now that--" Sir Adrian breaks off without finishing thesentence.
"That she has forgiven him whatever offense he committed? Yes, afterwhat we have just seen--quite a sentimental little episode, was itnot?--I can not help cherishing the hope that all is again right betweenthem. It could not have been a very grave quarrel, as Arthur isincapable of a rudeness; but then dearest Florence is so capricious!"
"Ill-tempered and capricious!" Can the girl he loves so ardently beguilty of these faults? It seems incredible to Sir Adrian, as heremembers her sunny smile and gentle manner. Bu
t then, is it not herdearest friend who is speaking of her--tender-hearted little DoraTalbot, who seems to think well of every one, and who murmurs suchpretty speeches even about Arthur, who, if the truth be told, is notexactly "dear" in the sight of Sir Adrian.
"You think there is, or was, an engagement between Arthur and MissDelmaine?" he begins, with his eyes fixed upon the ground.
"I think nothing, you silly man," says the widow playfully, "until I amtold it. But I am glad Florence is once more friendly with poor Arthur;he is positively wrapped up in her. Now, has that interesting _tableau_we so nearly interrupted given you a distaste for all other pictures?Shall we try the smaller gallery?"
"Just as you will."
"Of course"--with a girlish laugh--"it would be imprudent to ventureagain into the one we have just quitted. By this time, doubtless, theyare quite reconciled--and--"
"Yes--yes," interrupts Sir Adrian hastily, trying in vain to blot outthe picture she has raised before his eyes of Florence in her lover'sarms. "What you have just told me has quite taken me by surprise," hegoes on nervously. "I should never have guessed it from Miss Delmaine'smanner; it quite misled me."
"Well, between you and me," says Dora, raising herself on tiptoe, asthough to whisper in his ear, and so coming very close to him, "I amafraid my dearest Florence is a little sly! Yes, really; you wouldn'tthink it, would you? The dear girl has such a sweet ingenuousface--quite the loveliest face on earth, I think, though some pronounceit too cold. But she is very self-contained; and to-day, you see, shehas given you an insight into this slight fault in her character. Now,has she not appeared to you to avoid Arthur almost pointedly?"
"She has indeed," agrees Sir Adrian, with a smothered groan.
"Well"--triumphantly--"and yet, here we find her granting him a privateaudience, when she believed we were all safely out of the way; and inthe north gallery too, which, as a rule, is deserted."
"She didn't know we were thinking of driving to the hills," says SirAdrian, making a feeble effort to find a flaw in his companion'sstatement.
"Oh, yes, she did!" declares the widow lightly. "I told her myself,about two hours ago, that I intended asking you to make a party to gothere, as I dote on lovely scenery; and I dare say"--coquettishly--"sheknew--I mean thought--you would not refuse so small a request of mine.But for poor Lady FitzAlmont's headache we should be there now."
"It is true," admits Sir Adrian, feeling that the last straw hasdescended.
"And now that I think of it," the widow goes on, even more vivaciously,"the reason she assigned for not coming with us must have been a feignedone. Ah, slyboots that she is!" laughs Mrs. Talbot merrily. "Of course,she wanted the course clear to have an explanation with Arthur. Well,after all, that was only natural. But she might have trusted me, whomshe knows to be her true friend."
Ill-tempered--capricious--sly! And all these faults are attributed toFlorence by "her true friend!" A quotation assigned to Marechal Villarswhen taking leave of Louis XIV. occurs to him--"Defend me from myfriends." The words return to him persistently; but then he looks downon Dora Talbot, and stares straight into her liquid blue eyes, soapparently guileless and pure, and tells himself that he wrongs her.Yes, it is a pity Florence had not put greater faith in this kind littlewoman, a pity for all of them, as then many heart-breaks might have beenprevented.
